The Locket
by Opera Cloak
Summary: After a terrible nightmare, Erik receives a special gift from Christine Complete.
1. Part One

Author's Note: This story was inspired by a passage in my parody, "The Price of Fame," in which Erik tells Angel about a certain gift Christine gives to him during her stay in the lair. Unlike "The Price of Fame," this story is not a parody, and I have attempted to explore the darkness in Erik and Christine's relationship as well as the sweeter moments. Originally I was going to post it as a one-chapter story, but I think it might be a bit long, so I will post it in two parts.

Disclaimer: The characterisations are mainly taken from Leroux, with some references to Susan Kay's novel (I have used a quote from her novel in the story). The opening of this story was inspired by Suzy McKee Charnas' wonderful (in my opinion) novella, "Beauty and the Opera or The Phantom Beast."

I have also attempted to make my Erik a serious version of Angel in "The Price of Fame," meaning that he has some of the same personality traits, but he is not obsessed with doughnuts. If you have not read this story and therefore have no idea who Angel is, don't worry. What follows will still make sense.

Dedication: This story is dedicated to Midasgirl, who gave me the idea, and to all the phans on the phantomfans messageboard who contributed ideas for Erik's nightmare. Thank you!

I hope you enjoy this story! All those who review will be given doughnuts.

'The Locket' – Part One

Christine shifted uncomfortably in her dining chair. She was not hungry, but she was too nervous to excuse herself from the table. Instead she picked hesitantly at the contents of her plate; a brown and yellow substance which she was unable to identify.

Her companion sat across the table from her, devouring his food in a surprisingly enthusiastic manner. He wore no mask, and his deformed mouth twisted strangely with each new bite, occasionally causing the food to dribble down his chin. Christine kept her gaze on the flower arrangement in the centre of the table, afraid to meet his eyes, afraid to betray her revulsion.

Finally, Erik put his fork down, wiped his mouth with a napkin, and stared at Christine suspiciously.

"What's the matter, my dear? Is the food not to your liking?"

Christine nodded hastily. "Oh, yes! It's delicious, Erik, really."

Erik smiled proudly. "Thank you. Cookery is one of Erik's many skills!"

Christine nodded again, but said nothing more. Erik, disappointed that she had not responded with further praise, searched desperately for another way to gain her attention.

"And do you like the flowers?"

Christine smiled weakly. "Yes, Erik. They're very pretty."

Erik bowed his head modestly.

"Oh, my dear, you're too kind! You're embarrassing me with your praise! But I must admit I have always had a gift for flower arranging and interior decoration of all kinds! And what about the candles? Do you like the candles, Christine?"

Christine looked up at Erik. He was staring at her quite innocently, apparently unaware of the annoyance he was causing. His deformed lips were contorted into a hopeful smile, and his sunken eyes were staring pleadingly into hers. Christine relented. It was always best to tell Erik exactly what he wanted to hear.

"Yes, Erik. I love the candles. In fact, I love everything about this dinner. It's absolutely perfect."

Erik's smile broadened, and his eyes seemed to fill with a warm, golden light. At first, Christine had thought Erik's eyes only glowed in the dark. She had soon realised her mistake. Erik's eyes would glow whenever he was experiencing some intense emotion, such as anger, joy, pain, or love. Christine found them frightening yet strangely entrancing, like everything else about this odd, malformed creature.

"My dear, I don't know what to say!" Erik exclaimed, blushing a darker shade of yellow. "You have rendered Erik speechless with your kind words!"

_Good,_ thought Christine. _Perhaps now I'll finally have some peace._

"Christine?"

Christine groaned inwardly. "Yes, Erik?"

"I love you."

Christine shivered slightly, and looked back down at her plate.

"I know."

Erik waited for her to continue, to say the words he longed so desperately to hear, but they did not come. He sighed deeply, and then sprang up from his chair, suddenly filled with the nervous energy which always made Christine feel deeply uncomfortable. Then he started to clear the table in an over-enthusiastic manner, spilling his homemade yellow slime on the table cloth as he did so.

"Well, that was a rather successful meal, if I do say so myself!" he said, in a ridiculously cheerful voice. "And now, my dear, I think we shall retire to the drawing room. We'll rest for a while, and then I'll give you your next lesson…"

Christine stood up. "Forgive me, Erik, but would you please excuse me from my lesson tonight? I'm very tired."

Erik was deeply disappointed, but he managed to smile at Christine politely.

"Of course, my dear. Would you like me to sing for you instead?"

"That's very kind of you, Erik, thank you. But I could really do with an early night."

"Then I'll sing you to sleep."

Christine shook her head quickly. "No, it's all right. I'll be fine, really…"

Erik's smile faded. The light in his eyes suddenly died, like two candles being snuffed out simultaneously.

"You don't want to spend time with me, do you?" he whimpered. "Did I do something wrong? Does poor Erik still frighten you?"

Christine sighed again. She could never excuse herself from Erik's company without him interpreting it as a rejection.

"No, darling, of course not," she replied, as gently as she could. "I enjoy spending time with you. I'm just very tired, that's all."

Erik smiled wistfully.

"Oh well. Perhaps tomorrow, then?"

Christine was silent for a moment. So he had forgotten. She had suspected as much. And now the moment she had been dreading all evening had finally arrived.

"You promised to take me back tomorrow, Erik."

It was difficult to read Erik's expression, but a slight yellowish glow in his eyes suggested surprise.

"I don't recall promising any such thing, Christine," he said, in a tone of genuine sincerity. "You must be mistaken."

Christine swallowed nervously.

"You promised during our first meal together," she insisted. "You said I would have my freedom after I had stayed with you for five days, and the fifth day is almost over. Now you must let me go."

The yellow glow in Erik's eyes became an angry golden gleam.

"Remember where you are, Christine!" he growled. "You are in no position to tell me what I have to do! This is my house, you are my guest, and I decide when you can leave!"

Christine glared at Erik defiantly.

"I am not your private property, Erik!" she cried. "You have to let me go! I'm a singer, Erik, or have you forgotten that? I am now very much in the public eye, thanks to you! And people will be wondering where I've gone!"

Erik's mouth twisted into a snarl. "Oh, yes! I expect they are, my dear! I bet they're out of their minds with worry! Especially a certain Vicomte de Chagny…"

"Oh, Erik! This has nothing to do with him!"

"Nonsense!" Erik spat. "He's the reason you want to leave me, Christine! He's the reason you want to return to the Opera! Do you think I didn't notice him following you around like a lovesick puppy? Oh, yes! Erik knows all about that! Erik knows about everything that happens in his Opera House! Erik's no fool, do you hear me? Erik's no fool!"

Erik bared his teeth and snorted angrily.

"Erik, stop!" Christine cried, exasperated. "Yes, Raoul will be worried about me. But he's just an old friend! Why won't you believe me?"

Erik looked at Christine for a moment, clearly wondering if he could trust her. Finally his expression softened.

"Very well, Christine," he sighed. "I will take you back to the Opera House tomorrow. But only if you promise to return to me in three days."

"Three days," Christine whispered. _Three days of freedom. Three days in which to make her escape. _"I promise, Erik."

Erik smiled. Quite unexpectedly and very timidly, he reached out and ran two long, bony fingers gently through Christine's hair. Christine recoiled, startled by the touch.

Erik let his hand drop to his side and hung his head in shame. _I _do_ still repulse her,_ he thought, sadly. _But she's too kind to admit it._

Deeply shaken, and suddenly overcome with longing for Raoul (who often stroked her hair in that same tender way), Christine turned away hastily and left the room, closing the door behind her.

Erik was left alone, crushed by her latest rejection.

"Goodnight, Christine," he said, his voice barely audible. "I'm sorry."

-)-)-

Christine paced back and forth in her bedchamber, expecting Erik to burst in at any moment and beg for forgiveness. Perhaps he would go down on his knees and kiss the hem of her dress again. Christine shuddered.

She waited for ten minutes, but Erik did not disturb her. Feeling strangely disappointed, she lay down on the bed and reflected upon her situation.

Ever since the fateful day of his unmasking, and her subsequent display of compassion, Erik had behaved like a devoted slave. He gave her singing lessons every day, cooked for her (although his skills in the kitchen left a lot to be desired), and showered her with endless attentions. He was hideously ugly and unpredictable, but he was also the neediest creature Christine had ever encountered. He wanted to spend every moment of every day in her company, singing to her, reading to her, playing the piano, showing her magic tricks. Christine found his company exhausting, but she humoured him, giving him the attention he so desperately craved.

She had burned his mask, telling him (somewhat untruthfully) that she was no longer distressed by his face and that he should not feel obliged to hide it from her. She dined with him three times a day (despite the awful food and his eating problems), and constantly reassured him that she appreciated his cooking, his singing, his ability to create an appropriate mood with candles, and his insistence on constantly wearing an evening suit while in her company: morning, noon and night.

Christine had only meant to show Erik a little compassion, to soothe his troubled heart and mind. Instead, to her extreme distress, Christine's kindness had simply caused Erik to fall even more deeply in love with her!

She could not face the prospect of another day in his company, another day enduring his jealous threats and tragic words of love.

Tomorrow, she would say goodbye to Erik forever.

-)-)-

_Christine lovingly caressed Erik's face, tracing his protruding cheekbones with her fingertips. _

"_I love you, Erik."_

_Erik moaned softly, and pressed his cheek into Christine's palm._

"_I love you too, Christine."_

_Christine smiled, and put her arms around Erik's neck. Erik leaned forward, and gently touched his deformed lips to hers._

_She screamed, and pushed him to the floor._

"_If you ever, ever try to kiss me again, you hideous creature, I'll cut your lips off!"_

_Erik looked up at Christine in hurt bewilderment. _

_She wasn't there. _

_Erik gasped. She wasn't there, but someone else was…_

"_What have you done with Christine?" Erik wailed, struggling to his feet. "Where is she?"_

_The woman laughed. "Christine has gone, you stupid creature! Did you honestly think she'd stay here, in this rat-infested hole, with a corpse as her only companion? No, Christine has gone, and she's never coming back!"_

"_I'm not a corpse!" Erik spat. "And Christine will come back, because she loves me!" _

"_You're deceiving yourself, Corpse!" the woman giggled. "Of course Christine doesn't love you! No one loves you! She has left you, left the ugly Beast and run away with her Prince Charming. Well, her _Viscount_ Charming, to be precise!"_

_Erik backed away from the dark figure. It seemed to grow larger with every step he took. _

"_No! No! You're lying! Christine wouldn't do that! She wouldn't leave Erik! She loves him!"_

"_But my dear little monster, everyone hates you when they see your face. You know that…" the hideous voice continued. "Look, let me show you…"_

_A large hand grabbed Erik's shirt, and dragged him out of the room as if he were no heavier than a rag doll. Doors opened and closed and, suddenly, he was in the torture chamber. _

"_Look at yourself!" roared the terrible voice. "Look at yourself in the mirror and see why you must wear a mask! Look at yourself and see why no one can ever love you! Look!"_

_Erik looked. A million reflections of his rotting face stared back at him. Erik watched in horror as one of the hideous mouths opened and started to laugh. The laughter spread to the other faces, and soon all the death's heads were laughing at him, leering at him, burning him with their terrible yellow eyes…_

Erik awoke with a scream.


	2. Part Two

Author's Note: Many thanks to everyone who read and reviewed the first part of this story (Hands out doughnuts). I'm so sorry for the wait…I really don't know why it took me so long to finish this.

Lucrezia Borgia: I'm not sure whether I would trust Angel to deliver your doughnut. He would probably eat it on the way!

A note on the characterisations: I'm very pleased that so many of you think that my Erik is very close to the original Leroux Erik, and I have found your comments very interesting.

I have chosen to portray Erik the way I have because I believe he is actually the most childlike character in the novel. As some of you have pointed out, Leroux's Erik is very needy and pitiful. I find it interesting that Erik and Christine have exchanged some characteristics in many later adaptations of the story, with Erik being portrayed as the dominant, mature master and Christine as the weak, rather childish heroine, when in fact I would say that Leroux's Erik is more childlike than his Christine.

In regards to Christine's coldness, I believe that Leroux's Christine _is _quite cold, avoiding Raoul and lying to Erik. However, I do not think her coldness means that she is cruel and insensitive at heart. I think she is simply being cold out of necessity. She lies to Erik to protect Raoul and to guarantee her own freedom and safety. Erik, however much we love and pity him, is a very unpredictable, dangerous man.

Anyway, sorry about the rant! I just thought I should justify my characterisations after all the interesting comments I received.

A note about 'The Price of Fame': My parody has been nominated for the parody/comedy category of The Phantom of the Opera Reader's Choice Phan Phiction Awards. Thank you very much to whoever nominated my story! If you would like to visit the website for these awards, the address can be found towards the bottom of my profile page. Here, readers will soon be able to vote for their favourite stories. Not that I'm hinting that I want you to vote for me or anything ;)

I hope you enjoy the rest of this story!

"The Locket" – Part Two

Christine sat up abruptly, passing a cold hand over her damp forehead. Something had startled her from sleep, but she could not remember what it was. Perhaps it had just been a nightmare. This place was enough to give anyone bad dreams.

Feeling too disturbed to attempt to sleep again, Christine slipped quietly out of bed and lit the oil lamp on her bedside table. Donning an exquisite silk dressing gown which Erik had bought for her, she picked up the lamp in one hand and pushed the door open with the other. Then she stepped silently into the dark passage beyond.

She paused, shivering slightly. She wanted to venture into the drawing room, the most comfortable room in the house, and perhaps read through a musical score to banish her feeling of unease. However, the thought that Erik may still be awake made her hesitate. Christine had seen Erik's bedroom – _the room with the coffin_ – but for some reason she doubted that he ever slept. His deep yellow eyes seemed permanently alert, and Christine had the unnerving feeling that he was always _watching._ Always watching, and never sleeping…

Christine shuddered, and cursed herself silently. No wonder she couldn't sleep when she was forever indulging in these silly, morbid fantasies! Anyway, there was no line of light at the base of the drawing room door. In fact, the entire house seemed dark and silent. Erik must be in his room after all.

Christine pushed her fears to the back of her mind and took several tentative steps along the passage.

Suddenly she froze, trembling with fright.

A soft sound seemed to be coming from behind Erik's door. Cautiously, Christine drew nearer to the door in an attempt to hear the noise more clearly. She realised instantly that it was his breathing she could hear. It sounded strangely laboured, an awful gasping sound which reached her even through the thick oak.

It occurred to her that Erik might be ill. Despite her fear and revulsion, Christine realised that she couldn't bear the thought of her monstrous angel suffering physical pain. With a determination which surprised her, she closed her hand around the brass doorknob and quietly entered the room.

Christine glanced fearfully around the darkened chamber. In the meagre glow cast by the oil lamp she could see that the coffin had fallen from its dais, and it was now lying upside-down on the floor. A shadowy figure lay curled up beside it.

Concerned yet fearful, Christine crept over to the figure and held up the lamp.

Erik was huddled beneath a thin white blanket. His arms were wrapped around his head, and he was shivering and sobbing violently.

"Erik?"

Erik shuddered, and curled into a tighter ball.

"Leave me alone!" he sobbed, his breath escaping from him in short, laboured gasps. "I don't want to see! I don't want to see!"

Christine realised then that Erik must be trapped in some awful world of nightmare. Fearfully, as if she were approaching some wild beast, she reached forward and placed a hand on Erik's shoulder.

Erik screamed, and sat bolt upright. Startled, Christine let out a cry and tore her hand away. Trembling with fear, she turned and fled towards the door.

"Chris…tine? The voice was tiny, bewildered. "Is that you?

Christine froze, and turned around. Erik was crouching on the floor, looking at her with a panicked expression. His yellow eyes glinted with unshed tears, and his thin chest heaved beneath his white nightshirt as he struggled to catch his breath.

Christine tried to calm herself.

_There's nothing to fear_. _Just offer a few words of comfort, and he'll let you go back to bed._

She forced her trembling lips into a smile.

"Yes, Erik. It's me. Are you all right?"

Erik stared at her in disbelief.

"Christine, you didn't leave?"

"Of course I didn't. I've been asleep in the other room. I went to bed early, remember? You've been having a nightmare."

Erik stared at her pleadingly.

"Please don't leave me, Christine!" he cried, hysteria creeping into his voice. "I don't want to be alone underground anymore! I don't want you to run away with _him_!"

Christine stared at him in shock. She wondered briefly if he had somehow read her thoughts at dinner that evening, but she dismissed the notion as another of her sick fancies. She spoke to him as sternly as her courage would allow.

"How many times do I have to tell you, Erik? Monsieur de Chagny and I are just very old friends, no more, no less!"

"I don't believe you," Erik moaned. "How can I believe you, Christine?" He paused, a solitary tear running down his cheek. "But it's all right. I'm not angry with you. I understand why you want to leave me for your viscount. Oh, I'll pursue you when you try to run. I'll kill for you, if necessary. Poor Erik won't be able to help himself. But deep down I'll understand. If I was in your position, I know who I would choose. Raoul's handsome and kind and rich, and I'm just a monster who lives in a grave. I'm deformed and disgusting! You can't possibly favour me over him, Christine. No one can love Erik, do you hear me? It isn't possible…it isn't possible…"

Erik burst into fresh tears, his body convulsing painfully. Christine watched him, her own eyes filled with tears of sympathy despite his threatening words.

"Who told you that?"

Erik sniffed loudly, his nose-hole expanding ever so slightly. "What?"

"That no one can love you?"

"She did," Erik confessed, shuddering.

"Who did?"

"In the dream…"

Christine sighed. This was obviously going to require a great deal of patience on her part. Erik could be extremely inarticulate when he was upset.

"Who was in the dream, Erik?" she persisted gently.

"I don't want to talk about it," Erik whispered, fear shaking his voice. "It was horrible."

"I know," Christine crooned. "I know. Don't be frightened. It's all right…"

Erik looked at her. Or, to be more precise, he turned his big empty eye sockets towards her. There was no light in his eyes now, only a terrible, infinite darkness which Christine could not comprehend. When he spoke again, his voice was as dry and dark as a grave.

"No, Christine. It isn't all right. And you know _nothing_."

"Well, I'm sorry, I'm sure," said Christine, her annoyance overriding her fear. "I was only trying to help."

They sat for a while in uneasy silence, gazing at each other in fear, mistrust, and incomprehension.

"Look," said Christine, eventually. "I can't just leave you on the floor like this. Why don't you sleep in the drawing room? Bring that blanket, and I'll make a bed for you on the couch…"

She knew how ridiculous the suggestion sounded. She was actually offering to put the Phantom of the Opera to bed. _But not because I care for him, _she told herself. _I just want to calm him down. I just want to go back to my room…_

Erik looked at her suspiciously for a moment. Then he gathered the blanket into his arms and shakily rose to his feet.

Once in the drawing room, Christine lit the lamps and arranged some cushions at one end of the couch. Then she turned to look at Erik, who was standing in the doorway, clutching his blanket nervously. He looked more ghostly than ever in the baggy white nightshirt, his yellow skin glowing eerily in the lamplight. His feet, with their long, bony, claw-like toes, appeared almost bestial against the rich Persian carpet. He looked at Christine sheepishly, and for a moment he resembled a small child, scared of the dark and eager to stay up with his parents when it was past his bedtime. Despite his macabre appearance, Christine was filled with unexpected affection for him.

"I think you'll be comfortable here," she said, inclining her head towards the couch. "It's far more pleasant than your room. That coffin is enough to give anyone nightmares."

"I like my coffin," said Erik defensively. "It makes me feel safe."

Christine wanted to know how sleeping in a coffin could possibly make a person feel safe, but she decided it would be unwise to question him. She watched in silence as Erik lay down on the couch and covered himself with the blanket.

"Are you warm enough?" Christine asked. "Do you want another blanket?"

Erik shook his head.

"I'll leave you now, then. Goodnight, Erik. Sleep well."

"No!" Erik's voice was full of fear once again. "Don't go…please, Christine…"

"I can't be with you all the time, Erik," said Christine, as gently as she could. "Why don't you go to sleep? You'll feel better in the morning, I'm sure."

"No, I won't," said Erik miserably. "Don't you see, Christine? I want to go to sleep, but I can't, because the nightmares will come back!"

"You're still afraid?" Christine asked.

Erik nodded. "Down here, in the dark, I imagine terrible things, and they stay with me when I close my eyes to sleep. I can't escape from them, Christine! If poor Erik could heal his own mind, he would. But he can't, Christine! That's why he needs you! I love you, Christine. You bring me comfort. You take away the darkness…"

As she listened to his strange words, an idea suddenly occurred to Christine.

"Stay here, Erik," she said, rising from her chair. "I'll only be a minute."

Christine went to her room and picked up a small object from her bedside table: a little golden locket on a chain. She stared at it tenderly for a moment, and then returned to Erik.

"I've brought something to show you," she said, holding out her hand.

Erik's eyes glinted with admiration. Christine knew that he loved pretty things. The bizarre display of thimbles, pincushions, shells, and intricately decorated trinket boxes quaintly arranged on his shelves provided sufficient evidence of this.

"That's very pretty, Christine," he said, his eyes burning with curiosity. "My mother used to have one like that. What's inside it?"

Christine carefully opened the locket and brought it into the light, revealing two small photographs.

"Why, it's you, Christine!" said Erik delightedly, reaching out to take the locket in his large, bony hands. "When was it taken?"

"I was sixteen," said Christine.

"You haven't changed," said Erik tenderly. "Except perhaps you're a little thinner now."

Christine tried to smile at Erik's attempt at a compliment.

"And this is my father," she said, indicating the other photograph.

"He's very handsome," said Erik, staring at the picture in obvious admiration. "You really are lucky, Christine. I wish I had been fortunate enough to inherit my father's good looks."

"Do you have a picture of your father, Erik?" Christine asked gently.

Erik shook his head. For a brief moment, he looked unbearably sad.

"No, but I remember him very well. He was very tall, with dark hair and dark brown eyes, and clear, smooth skin," Erik paused, and bowed his head. "No wonder he didn't want me."

"But you're tall," said Christine, attempting to comfort him. "And you have dark hair."

Erik laughed bitterly. "Yes, Christine. I've just never had much of it. But please, why are you showing me this?"

"Because I want you to have it," said Christine quietly.

Erik stared at her in disbelief. "You're giving it to me? Why?"

"Because I think it might help you," said Christine simply. "If you wear my picture close to your heart, it will be as if a part of me is always with you."

"Oh, Christine, I can't accept this," said Erik. "It's got your father's picture in it. It must be very precious to you."

"I'm sure my father wouldn't mind," said Christine truthfully. "He was a very great musician who believed in my voice. You completed the work he had begun. I'm sure he is very grateful to you, as I am," Christine pressed the locket into Erik's hands. "Take it, and keep it safe."

"No one's ever given me a present before," Erik sobbed. "Well, apart from my mask. My mother said it was a present, but it wasn't really. It was something which she wanted," he paused, and wiped the tears from his eyes. "You don't know how much this means to me, Christine."

Christine watched as Erik fastened the locket around his neck with shaking fingers. Then he smiled at her.

"My dear little Christine," he said, clutching the locket to his heart with fiercely protective love. "Thank you so much. You're an angel. And Erik will be able to sleep now, because he knows that you're always with him. And tomorrow he'll take you back to the world above, because he trusts you and he knows you'll come back to him."

Christine lowered her eyes. Guilt gnawed at her insides, and suddenly she knew she couldn't leave him. Not tomorrow. Not when he trusted her so much…

"I think I can stay a little longer after all, Erik," she said slowly. "I don't think I'll be missed at the Opera. Not for the sake of another week."

Erik's eyes shone, and his deformed lips twisted into a hideous yet nevertheless heart-warming grin. For a terrible moment, Christine thought he was going to hug her.

"Oh, Christine!" he cried, clapping his hands together joyfully. "You'd be most welcome! My home belongs to you. Oh, we'll have such fun together! We can go out for walks in the Bois, just like a normal couple! Would you like that? Yes, I'm sure you would! You like fresh air, don't you? Perhaps we could take a picnic…a midnight picnic under the stars! Can you think of anything more romantic than that, Christine?"

Christine couldn't help but smile at Erik's excited tirade. Despite her lingering horror and revulsion, she knew she had made this poor, afflicted man very happy, even if it would only be for a short time.

"And Erik can cook for you three times a day!" Erik added cheerfully.

Christine went pale.

"Well, maybe not _three_ times a day…" she said carefully.

"I have a delightful recipe for beef stew!" Erik continued, ignoring her. "Perhaps I could make that tomorrow."

"Couldn't we have something a little…dryer?" said Christine, trying to banish an alarming vision of Erik with gravy dribbling down his chin.

"Very well, Christine," said Erik, completely failing to identify the reason behind Christine's aversion to beef stew. "I'll see what I can do."

"Do you think you can sleep now?" Christine asked, standing up.

"Yes, thank you, my dear," Erik paused for a moment. "Christine?"

"Yes, Erik?"

"I love you."

To Erik's disappointment, Christine did not reply. Instead she simply lowered her eyes and turned towards the door. "Goodnight, Erik."

When Christine had gone, Erik lay back on the sofa and sighed. He wished Christine would not be so shy about expressing her love. But it didn't matter. She had given him her picture, and that confirmed her love for him more than three simple words ever could.

Erik smiled to himself in the darkness, and closed his yellow eyes. With one hand clasped lovingly around the locket, and the long, skeletal thumb of the other nestled comfortingly in his mouth, the Phantom of the Opera sank into a peaceful sleep and dreamed of midnight picnics.


End file.
